Chapter Text
It has been a little more than two years since Al-Haitham resigned from the Acting Grand Sage position, back to being a Scribe and things have changed a bit drastically. The Traveller has been sending letters after letters, about the former Fontaine archon (details which were supposed to be a bit confidential, but Al-Haitham is not one to gossip over a session of TCG and he knows these letters are not specific to him, all his acquaintances must have received same versions of their ever flowing letters) and how they’re just sending the ones they wrote last year, meaning there’s still a bunch more to be sent.
The main things that have changed majorly are about his roommate. Kaveh. No, he’s still embarrassingly denying the fact that he's living with the Haravatat scholar and he’s still starting arguments like he was taught to do so since he was born. What has changed is that ....he’s not in that much of debt? Surprisingly, (or not for some, like those who helped save the dendro nation), Kaveh got more commissions than he ever has in the past year. Some of these requests were from Lord Kusanali herself, who wanted the deserts of Sumeru to have more schools and facilities so they don’t need to travel to Caravan ribat during dire situations and for those who aspire to join the Akademiya later.
Kaveh had been happily busy, his face containing tired smiles despite the amount of sand his hair alone carried home after days of staying in tents and pits unknown. He never did mind having lead dust under his fingernails and falling asleep on his blueprints with ink yet to dry. Afterall, his Archon had wanted the most beautiful buildings inspired by the civilizations seen by the desert all these centuries. “Our Archon is really the best, I tell you. She understands both art and Cyno’s jokes,” he always told his roommate, coming home after nights of endless planning, “One can like both art and wisdom, you know.” (He didn’t realise, Al-Haitham thought, that his sentence just suggested Cyno’s jokes as words as wisdom)
Al-Haitham doesn’t notice that his mind has been playing him images of the architect being just, relieved and satisfied about himself, though all he does is juggle between difficult clients and taking classes for children and what not. He thinks about how he has been picking up after himself more, talks to himself more (but not in a derogatory way like before) and even talking about his work to Al-Haitham whether he listens or not. Maybe Kaveh thinks he can talk his (noise cancelled) ears out since he went from lagging behind five months of rent to three months.
His thoughts are temporarily interrupted by the sound of keys juggling from outside and he involuntarily picks up his earpieces to wear. But Kaveh’s currently holding some stuff that is heavy, since he’s already inside placing the bags on the floor before he could place them on his ears. Not even a moment of silence passes.
“I had to get us vegetables for this week because someone who believed that they had better abilities to identify the good stock had simply forgotten to do so,” he brings two bags into the kitchen, leaving a lean one in the middle of the hall. It takes half of Al-Haitham’s willpower to not comment on the fact that he could have brought all the three bags into the kitchen in one go, but it would only increase the time until he gets to wear his earpiece.
“But at least I came to know of this stall while searching for the ‘best beetroots for halwa’ in the bazaar,” Kaveh picks up the lonely bag and takes out a bunch of fabric as if he were inside his own room.
“If you’re going to change the curtains for the nth time this year, I am just going to ask you to move out so you could live in a house with only windows all over so it becomes a curtain exhibition. You could make one yourself, even.”
“Stop making assumptions based on my previous behaviours, Mr Al-Haitham, I am truly satisfied with the curtains we have right now. It’s not too decorative but still matches the rug and the bookshelves! It would take a century to replace such a fine piece. To help you, this is actually a cloth to wear. Tell me, doesn’t it look very similar to what I wear pretty much everyday?”
“If you’re going to just show me how it looks folded, I might as well start making dinner for myself and go to sleep soon,” Al-Haitham gets up as he speaks, paying little to no attention to the details of whatever Kaveh was holding up to his chest. Seriously, he never has been that much of a thinker when it comes to clothing, as he’s one of those people who buys more of the same outfit if they like it.
To his surprise, Kaveh lets out a huff without saying a thing and turns towards his own room muttering something along the lines of ‘going to wear’ and ‘don’t care’. Usual stuff. A little thump on the floor is heard, followed by a quiet noise of confusion. The grey haired man makes no thought of this as he’s already inside the kitchen, lighting the stove on. He probably got a size down he thinks anyways.
Right after he sets a six minute timer on his kitchen alarm clock, he walks out, almost at the same time as his roommate appears from his room too, wearing the new outfit he had gotten. Except it is not at all what one would expect. Standing right in front of him, is the Light of Kshahrewar, wearing a two piece- a lehenga. The architect was right, the designs and the colors do look very similar to his usual attire. Though not having white as the main base for the top, it surely contains brown, a shade of blue like the color of a peacock’s neck and gold patterns.
The top has a neck which is in the shape of V, but never too low as his white one. The sleeves are long and they go wider till his wrists. The almost plain brown blouse makes a stop right above his belly button, probably , because the skirt follows just right after, showing a sliver of the architect’s skin. The skirt by itself, is a huge contrast to the other piece, containing intricate patterns in gold against blues and red. It doesn’t go too wide like the ones you would see at weddings, you see, and the material looks pretty much comfortable enough to wear while crossed legged and draw beams and columns.
Kaveh holds a bunch of the fabric of his skirt and evaluates his choice of outfit, pieces of golden hair falling from behind his ears.
kdsjrhwoc?
Sure, Al-Haitham has seen lots of people wearing bottoms that were definitely not pants, no matter what their gender was. He’s a Scribe in the Akademiya, afterall. But this ? This is so Nilou-or-Dunyazard-definitely not Dehya-but-yeah like.
“I had no idea it was a two piece! And obviously, I didn't at all notice the bottom. I did not even think of the possibility of these not being a pair of pants? Hmmm this isn't bad, it's soft and oh wow,” Kaveh mutters the rest of the sentence, totally not looking at how Al-Haitham is looking like a gold fish staring back at humans through the tank glass.
“I, yeah it looks interesting,” beautiful even- I mean, what?
The grey haired man could count the amount of times something has made him feel like the world stopped for half a second in two fingers. Is he kidding? How can one buy something without even looking at it properly? Was this planned specifically to test whether I would notice his stupidity and question him?
But the expression on his roommate's face shows much more than that. Oh, he's glowing. He goes back in, probably to take a look at himself in the mirror, letting Al-Haitham know what the back looks like.
The blouse looks pretty much normal, (in his standards, for a Nilou-like dress) and even has two threads? from where the opening starts and it's tied into a lazy knot. Three minutes have passed and he's still in the same place. The scholar’s mind went from questioning his roommate to questioning himself now.
Has he suddenly started to appreciate beauty now? When was the last time his thought process vocabulary included ‘beautiful’, ‘ kdsjrhwoc ’ and ‘how did this moron manage to shut me up?’ and much more incoherent words? It's not the first time he has seen that golden hair put into a bun, in fact, he sees that almost everyday when the other sits down to work. So, why must this further stop Al-Haitham from going back to whatever he was doing?
It would have been way easier if the architect had just blond hair throughout, but no, he was born to be a menace to Al-Haitham. The hair falling off the bun gets darker till it almost matches the blouse he's wearing. This is not the case for the strands covering the ears though, as they sit on his shoulders, heavily contrasting the brown. It is a mess. A beautiful mess.
There's really no reason why he should be worried. Yeah. He can go back to check on the shrimp curry he has been cooking and everything would be alright. He straight up ignores the panicky shouts from the room about his then senior not being able to remove the hooks and focuses (tries to) on the spices to be added to the curry.
The Scribe is pretty much silent during the dinner, though calmer since Kaveh is in his usual casual attire and not the two piece anymore. But it doesn’t mean the silence is reciprocated.
“I am thinking of wearing the new outfit to Nilou’s next performance, you know the one coming up next week. She seemed really excited when I ran into her yesterday, even after so much practice,” Kaveh places his cheek on his palm, a habit whenever there's a table in front of him of the right height.
“Sure, but be careful, you might be getting all the attention from the Zubayr Theater, wearing all that.” Al-Haitham does not need to tell him that, it is a fact.
“Huh? Because I would be wearing that? Hmmm, but don't people usually wear those to her performances? I mean, you wouldn't know, when was the last time we went to her dance together?” Kaveh asks, looking genuinely confused and oblivious.
“I do not remember. But, it is just that Nilou wearing Nilou-like dress is ..common. On the other hand, the light of the Kshahrewar, wearing that, well, I suppose it might excite some people. So they might be looking like children discovering the balloon vendor in a fest,” by the time he finishes his reply, he's already getting ready to get up with his empty plate.
“Did it excite you , then?”
“...”
“What? You're the only one who saw me in that, and you assumed that I would attract the people who come to see Nilou’s performance, because it might excite them. On what basis would you say that other than the factor that you experienced that yourself?”
“You ask too many questions. I am coming up with a new rule, one question per dinner. You have exceeded the limit given to you, Kaveh. I am going to bed. It is your turn to do the dishes.” He dodges the question(s) and enters his room, but only after keeping his plate near the kitchen sink.
The Scribe doesn't mind reading a book twice. He would rather catch some details he missed earlier than listen to Kaveh call him an ‘insufferable brick’ while he picks up a newer book that he should have taken in.
Tonight, Al-Haitham dreams for the first time ever. And the dream has Kaveh smiling under the sunlight.